


Impossible Magister

by MyrddinDerwydd



Series: Lyrium Ghost [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Lyrium, Lyrium Fisting, Mages, Magister, Past Torture, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 16:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrddinDerwydd/pseuds/MyrddinDerwydd
Summary: “Does Fenris need a reason not to kill a mage? What about a magister?”





	Impossible Magister

“Fasta vass,” Fenris cursed violently under his breath.

He recognized the man half-collapsed onto the ground before him, and it made his skin crawl uncomfortably. Marian’s description matched him precisely, from the curl of his moustache to the elegant brutality of the magic he wielded; magic that had crushed the small army of Tevinter slavers with which he had been fighting a losing battle. The fifteen former slaves in the canyon beyond were safe. For now. Magister Dorian Pavus tried to rise, only to collapse again more slowly, bracing himself with a brilliant golden staff. He grimaced, folding his body painfully around a bloody wound torn across his abdomen.

Fenris could feel the mage’s exhaustion. His unique status as a living lyrium vein granted him some unusual abilities, including a rather acute sense of mages’ available mana. What had always been a useful skill in the past now revealed the full extent to which this... mage… this magister… had fought in their defense. Nothing Hawke had told him of this man made sense, he thought bitterly.

“Care to…” The mage groaned. “Care to give me a hand, now that I’ve saved your band of runaways?”

Impossible. A magister would never willingly help slaves escape. Fenris paced closer to the mage, agitated and covered in blood that was partly his own. Many of those wounds were already healing as his body drew on the strength of the lyrium lacing his skin. He saw no shimmer of sapphire lyrium potions at the mage’s belt, however.

“It would be painfully ironic if I were to die here, given that I’m certainly the most incredible ally the Imperium will ever grant you.” The magister's voice was flippant, pained, and undeniably arrogant. It was also laced with a steely determination that drew his gaze to the mage’s grey eyes.

Every instinct said to kill him quickly, while he was weak. Mages were rarely allies, and even less likely to be trustworthy. Magisters were never either. He crouched warily just out of arm's reach. _Don’t judge groups, Fenris. Judge the individuals or they’ll make you into a fool every time._ Hawke’s words nudged at him, and he could picture her wise, teasing look accompanying them in his mind, complete with a raised, dark eyebrow.

“Dorian Pavus?” Fenris asked, deliberately not using the man’s title.

“Ah, could there possibly be another magister this fabulous?” He was stupidly self-assured for a mage who was completely drained, bleeding, and facing a hostile warrior whose brutal efficacy he had just witnessed.

“Apparently not,” Fenris replied, a touch of amusement creeping into his voice. No wonder Marian liked him. They probably bantered endlessly the entire time she was with the Inquisition. The mage shifted, wincing in pain as more blood oozed from beneath his fingers. “You will not recover quickly enough to deal with that on your own.” It was as much a statement as a question.

The mage grimaced again, shifting part of his torn robes to press against the wound. “I had no intention of dramatically sacrificing myself while looking for you, Fenris, or even being part of this battle.” He wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead in the Imperial heat, leaving behind another smear of blood. “I would take it as a personal favor if you at least helped me live long enough to explain why I followed you into this dismal stretch of Maker-forsaken wasteland.”

The mage caught his gaze again, and he saw an intensity and honesty that reminded him more of Hawke, rather than his former master or the abomination Anders.

“Could you heal yourself, if your mana were replenished?” Fenris asked reluctantly.

Pavus nodded. “Anything would help, even the smallest potion.” The mage hesitated, then smiled wryly. “I think that some of their weapons may have been coated with magebane.”

Fenris rocked back on his heels at the revelation. The mage was utterly powerless, and likely to remain so for several more minutes, at least. Brutal satisfaction flashed through him at holding this magister’s life in his hands. The feeling was brief, again thanks to Hawke. _They have no more control over being born mages or nobles than you did over being born an elven slave._ This magister had placed himself in danger for the sake of slaves, many of whom were elven like himself. Pavus had willingly revealed his own weakness because… Because he trusted that Fenris was a good person, like Hawke and Varric.

“Please, Fenris. I can honestly say that neither the Champion nor Master Tethras would want you to let me die.” Pavus laughed weakly. “It would make a tragically bad story.”

“Venedhis,” Fenris muttered, running a gauntleted hand through his lyrium-white hair. This was potentially the most idiotic decision he would ever make. He had no potions and no means of making them. _You have more in common with mages than you care to admit, Fenris._ Marian constantly pushed him to become the man he desired to be, but reconciling his own idealism with the bitterness of reality was… difficult. Precisely as difficult as former slave trusting an Imperial magister.

Fenris’s body pulsed with a blue-white glow as he stared down at the lines of lyrium inscribed into his hand. That tortured hand had already ripped the heart from more than one magister. He shifted his eyes to Pavus without moving. Fear. A ragged groan of frustration tore itself free of the mage, fear and sadness in his eyes. He saw death. Pavus’s bloody, one-handed grip on the staff faltered, and he grimaced.

It was time to end this. Fenris unbuckled one spiked gauntlet and dropped it to the ground. He held the magister’s gaze as he warily moved up beside him. A flash of steely anger glinted there too. This one would still try to fight.

“Hawke thought you were better than this,” Pavus said coldly. “You don’t even know me, Fenris.”

He reached out, strong fingers gripping the mage’s forearm. Pavus returned the grip fiercely despite his injuries. Every vein of lyrium along his arm blazed in a flash of pain as it touched Pavus’s bloody arm, bared to the northern heat. Confusion flickered through the impossible magister’s eyes, raw power flowing freely at his fingertips.

“She is the _reason_ I am better than this,” Fenris replied, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Now draw.”

**Author's Note:**

> [ Writing Masterpost, organized by main character. ](https://myrddinderwydd.tumblr.com/post/166722794915/writing-masterpost)


End file.
